


Villanelle's Quarantine

by killingg_eve



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killingg_eve/pseuds/killingg_eve
Summary: Based on an article where Jodie Comer describes how she believes Villanelle would behave during quarantine (Link). This was such a fun concept that I couldn't resist writing it.--CW: COVID-19. If you are needing to escape reality, then maybe skip over this story! However, I do not plan on making it sad or making characters sick, or anything dark, like that.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 11
Kudos: 79





	Villanelle's Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to this story! :) I really appreciate you being here. Please feel free to leave comments/suggestions. I already have an idea of where I want this to go, but there are some details to work out. Thanks!

Villanelle rustles her hand around at the bottom of her bag of chips and stares up at the TV, numbly. Usually, Villanelle’s only reason for watching the news is to keep up with recent assassinations. With the COVID-19 pandemic sweeping across the globe, though, even she stays inside and listens for updates.

“The CDC recommends that everyone stays at home, as much as possible. Only go out if it’s essential. Wear a mask and stay at least six feet away from others.” The news anchor punctuates his words by pulling on a bright red mask that has the news station’s logo embroidered on it.

Konstantin was the first to inform Villanelle of everything. He’d called her from Cuba and told her to find a mask and stay inside. She did exactly that, settling down in a hotel room in Paris with as much of her stuff as she could move by her lonesome.

The Twelve would probably come after her, sooner or later, but even their priorities changed because of lockdown. So, Villanelle kept her suitcase close and her stacks of cash closer.

“This sucks!” Villanelle yells, loud enough for all of the neighboring hotel rooms to hear. And then she swats the crumbs off of her shirt and stands up. She throws away the empty bag of Korean BBQ flavored chips and decides to climb back up onto the bed. She falls flat on her back and closes her eyes.

The news changes to live coverage of a hospital, where a nurse layered in PPE shares more information. “Most of the folks who are passing from this virus are older—50 and up, with more deaths as age increases,” she explains. “I’ve watched this unfold with my own eyes. Stay home and protect immunocompromised and older individuals in your families and communities!”

_Oh my god, what about Eve!_ Villanelle opens her eyes wide, and now she is awake and stressed. She is always remembering standing with Eve on the bridge; it constantly plays in the back of her mind, as if on a movie screen. But she hadn’t considered the possibility of Eve getting sick.

Villanelle exhibits no self-restraint as she locates her phone and finds Eve’s contact information, hitting the “call” button, immediately.

It rings several times and she is greeted by Eve’s personal voicemail message.

_“You’ve reached Eve Polastri. Please leave your name and number at the beep,”_ Eve says in the message.

_Eve always sounds irritated without actually being irritated_ , Villanelle thinks. She gasps at the quality of Eve’s voice and gets butterflies, and she wonders why she hasn’t called Eve, prior—not to bother Eve during her quest for normalcy, but to hear her voice on the voicemail greeting.

As quickly as Villanelle’s spirited is uplifted by the sound of _that_ voice, after so much time has passed, her glee is replaced with worry. _Horrible_ worry. Images of Eve on a hospital bed, somewhere, breathing through a sad, little tube. Images of Eve with her hair all puffy and frizzy because she can’t moisturize from roots to ends while she’s in the hospital. And worst of all, images of nobody by her side—definitely not Niko, now.

_Oh fuck_ , she concludes, _Eve is sick with the virus!_

She searches through her phone, again, in hopes of finding Carolyn’s number. She wants to ask if anyone has checked up on Eve. _She’s all alone!_ Villanelle thinks, and—damn it, she doesn’t have Carolyn’s info. She wonders if she could call Konstantin, get Carolyn’s number that way, and _then_ she would know if anyone has checked up on Eve. _No, I can’t risk Konstantin’s life by calling him!_ she recalls.

She feels like all hope is lost and pulls her knees to her chest and hugs them. And tears start to fall. She imagines that she could hold Eve’s hand in the hospital and beg her to just keep breathing. To get better. _“Stay with me! I love you!_ ” she would say, whether or not Eve would tell her, again, that she doesn’t know what love is.

Three minutes pass and her phone rings.

_“Eve *curly hair emoji*”_ appears on the phone screen.

Her heart leaps and she picks up.

“Hello?!” she calls, worried.

“Hey . . . Villanelle? I just missed your call. What are you . . . where are . . . is everything okay?”

“Eve!” she yells, “I don’t give a shit about my life!! All I care about is yours! Are you okay?!”

“Oh my—calm down, Villanelle. I’m fine! Well, I mean, I burned my lunch,” she chuckles and then frowns at the misfortune. “But other than that, I’m fine. What’s wrong?”

“How are you feeling?! Is your chest tight? Can you smell, Eve? Can you taste? Do you have a cough?!” she bellows, frantically.

“Oh!” Eve says. “Villanelle, I don’t have COVID. Actually, cases are really low, so far.” And then she’s just confused. “Why—are you okay? Do you have any symptoms?”

“No, Eve. You scared the shit out of me! You didn’t pick up and I—I th—I can’t believe I thought…!”

“Villanelle,” Eve scolds with a sigh.

“Yes, Eve?”

“. . . I was just putting some laundry in, which is why I missed your call. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Thank god, Eve,” Villanelle says, and she’s crying pathetic, alligator tears. “The lady on the news said to look after all the old people you know! And I really thought . . .” she chuckles with relief. All her stress melts away.

“Vill—I—You’re calling me old?” Eve’s face contorts with the insult.

Villanelle sniffles and then argues, “50 and up, Eve. The news said 50 and up.”

“Well, there’s mixed stats on that,” Eve says, and she rolls her eyes. “But I’m only 43, Villanelle.” Eve doesn’t think that COVID would harm her, even if she caught it.

“I don’t need you to be a smarty-pants when I’m worried about your life, Eve! About your health!” Villanelle wails.

“Alright, Villanelle, alright. Well . . . I’ve gotta go. I need to get back to work. I’m totally healthy, okay? You don’t have to worry about me. Alright?”

“Okay, Eve,” she sniffles. And then, “Don’t do anything stupid, okay? Wear your mask and don’t go out, too much.”

Eve sighs. “Yes, Villanelle. Don’t worry, I’m super paranoid, without anyone else’s help.” And then Eve is quiet for a moment. “You take care of yourself, too, alright?” She pinches her own arm because she shouldn’t still care, but she does. She can’t help it. And the words tumbled out of her before she had time to overanalyze.

It hits Villanelle everywhere because she knew she’d worry for Eve, but she didn’t even have time to think about if Eve would worry about her, too. She holds her breath and decides to ponder that later.

“My lungs are only 29 years old, Eve. I don’t have to worry about _granny lungs_ like you do. Not to mention that I could _kill_ this virus with one of my knives. I would take it apart, piece by piece!” she brags.

Eve grins because she knows Villanelle is just deflecting, saving them both from further statements about how they hope each other stays safe.

“Okay, okay. Nice one, Villanelle,” and she knows that somewhere, Villanelle is probably taking a dramatic bow. “Me and my _granny lungs_ , or whatever, are hanging up now.”

“Bye, _Eve_ ,” Villanelle says, all too fondly, and she slams the ‘end call’ button before Eve can.


End file.
